His hometown has its own sort of cold
Tendrils of her hair beneath his cheek, like red silk,
asleep as he goes
Pale grasses and snow
glow on the edges of a blurred road
The horizon cinches in on
craggy rocks and hills
A sky that’s empty
A lone hawk hunts nearby
Another rests on an abandoned fencepost
Eyes open
Glittering
Layers of frost
coat hay bails
chipped letterboxes won’t keep mail dry
She’ll know now
that he’s gone